Subtle Musings
by shnapbean
Summary: 'A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.'   Luna's optimism shines in the darkest of circumstances.


_Luna is without a doubt one of my favourite characters in Harry Potter, if not my very favourite. I knew I wanted to write a fanfic on her from the start! Here is my take on Luna's ponderings whilst held hostage in Malfoy Manor. This idea was spontaneous, (nothing unusual here for me, har har) but writing from Luna's viewpoint is so satisfying! Anyway enough from me. On with the story! ^^_

I think I may sound very simple here, but I'm not meaning to. I just want to get my thoughts down quickly.

I'm excited because Mr Ollivander fashioned a quill out a feather found in a corner of this place! And some parchment and ink were found in other places. Not parchment as such, but a means to write, which is perfect. It sounds quite far-fetched, as if someone thought 'Oh, let's suppose they did find the means to write, so I can write a story on Luna's experiences in the Malfoy dungeon!' Maybe for people to read for entertainment? I wouldn't mind that! In fact, I would be proud.

When I get out of this dungeon, I'm going to thank Daddy for being so brave.

Mr Ollivander is a very nice man – I'm very glad he helped me choose my wand on that trip just before my first year of Hogwarts started.

Dad and I had lots of fun in Diagon Alley that day. The most recent edition of The Quibbler was on the shelves as it was freshly printed just the day before, and I expect Daddy and I felt a sense of achievement. I should think so too, because Daddy always spends a long time compiling text and pictures and writing new content for The Quibbler: it really is a good magazine.

I think it's just a coincidence my father is the editor. Coincidences are everywhere. What is a coincidence? They are what make the world tick, in a way. Things can happen, amazing things.

My wand is so meaningful to me not because of its magical power, but because it's a connection between this dank cell and my friends. Neville, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny. And the rest of the DA, of course. When we used to practise, it was brilliant! The memories I think about everyday.

They lift my spirits, because sadness is overrated.

Saying that, it's good to have a quiet ponder or cry. When my mother died, I did cry a lot. I always felt a lot better after letting my feelings out, but I do miss my mum. I know she's watching me and guarding me, and maybe even having a chuckle along with me, but she's always there. She was an amazing witch and a compassionate and quirky woman, Daddy says that.

We will meet her again one day, and that is the main thing.

Sometimes I used to walk into Ottery St Catchpole and buy the Muggle newspaper there. There is profoundness to be found in the most ordinary of places. Take the path outside my house, for one instance. One day there was a little mother frog leaping on the path. And a baby frog was following her. It was a beautiful and profound sight because it showed a new cycle of life. I think they like the Dirigible Plums in our garden, but that's beside the point. Frogs are lovely.

In one newspaper I bought, there was a quote from a Muggle poet, writer and philosopher called Ralph Waldo Emerson. 'A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.' It's an incredible thing to say. Thinking aloud is underrated! Of course, some thoughts are to be contained (no-one wants to hear something unnecessarily nasty or unpleasant). But isn't spontaneity great?

I hope we escape this place soon. I'm afraid for Griphook. Mr Ollivander seems to be an able-bodied man even if he is at a ripe age. When I'm his age, I do hope I'm as healthy as him. As long as I keep eating Plimpies, I'll be fine, I'm sure of that. I used to like going fishing for Plimpies down by the brook, because Daddy always said Plimpies were brain food, essential for supple bodies and brains, and he said there were a tasty treat, minus the treat, because they're healthy. I expect my mother ate a lot, then. She was very clever.

I think I'm going to stop writing now, but it was very fulfilling, scribbling down my thoughts. I can hear that maddening woman screeching upstairs.

I wonder if she, like me, thinks silence is underrated. No. No, I don't think so.


End file.
